


truth or dare?

by houseofthedragon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack Fic, F/M, Set during 7x05, Smut, a sprinkle of angst, before jon goes on the suicide mission, everyone’s quite ooc lol, jealous!Jon, jon goes down on dany 2k19, they fight they fuck, tyrion invents truth or dare, what else do you want??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 00:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18418958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthedragon/pseuds/houseofthedragon
Summary: On the night before the wight hunt, Tyrion decides to propose everyone to play a peculiar game to ease some of the tensions before the big day to come. Things don't go too well...and then they do.





	truth or dare?

On the night before the wight hunt, Tyrion came up with a strange idea to get rid of all the unnecessary tensions.

He had noticed how the council meeting went down—the way displeasure clouded Jon Snow’s dark eyes when Jorah Mormont heroically declared he would be going on the deadly mission, the rigid, strained looks exchanged between Jon and Daenerys when Jon then insisted that only _he_ could lead the men, the shift in tones after Lord Snow declared her permission was not important to him, the way Daenerys’ face had fallen before she could put on her queenly mask to cover it up and dismiss everyone from the room.

Even Greyworm, upon going out, muttered something to Tyrion. “Our Queen is not happy about Northman,” he had said.

Tyrion shook his head. “It’s not that,” he observed, “she is not happy about him leaving.”

Greyworm frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tyrion did not want to say it aloud but what he meant was that the two fools were falling for each other— _hard_ and they were blind to it. Or desperate to deny it, in any case.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tyrion answered instead, “I think we need a good distraction tonight.”

Greyworm – never one to need distractions – gave Tyrion a blank look. “This one do not like when you smile like so.”

Tyrion’s grin widened. “You’ll like it even less when the time comes.”

***

Every night Tyrion took a stroll down the beach. It felt like, for the small amount of time his walk lasted, he was a free man in a world less terrible than the one he actually lived in. When the days were already scary enough, it was easy to find comfort in the darkness of the skies, the smell of seawater and the quietness of nature. Darkness no longer made him afraid. He welcomed it, even, he would use as much peace as he’d get. Every night, he would take one last lingering look at the vast ocean and think to himself that the next day he might not be alive to see it again. The thought always made him sad.

That night, however, things were different. He decided to share his little secret haven with them. He lit a fire using twigs and branches he found lying around and proceeded to call his guests. Missandei was a willing participant from the beginning, despite giving him a questioning look. Greyworm was hard to convince but at the sight of Missandei smiling sweetly at him and telling him to give Tyrion a chance, his ‘no’s melted into quick nods.

Jon Snow was getting ready for bed when Tyrion knocked on his door. And that was Jon Snow, after all, he had no time for fun.

“It’ll be nice,” Tyrion insisted. “Did you know that a wise man once said that the ocean breeze is a good way to relax, especially before war? It calms the nerves and focuses the mind.”

“No,” Jon responded, “I know no such thing.”

Tyrion smiled. “Good. Because I’m the wise man saying it now.”

He eventually agreed, mostly because Jon seemed too tired to argue even more.

The hardest person to convince would be Daenerys.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you get from this?”

“Nothing,” he insisted, “I only want everyone to forget about their worries for a moment. If what Jon Snow says is true, about the Night King and its…army, then we’re all _fucking_ doomed. I didn’t even know a bigger monster than my sister could exist so go figure.”

Daenerys’ lips twitched. “Very well. I suppose a…bonfire can’t hurt anyone.”

Jorah Mormont decided to tag along, Tyrion didn’t remember even asking him. And Davos Seaworth as well.

When Tyrion accompanied Daenerys and Jorah to where he had set up wooden trunks around the fire, Jon and Davos were already there. Jon had taken off his gloves and was leaning over to warm his hands with the blazing flames.

“Glad to have you all here,” Tyrion said.

Jon looked up and Tyrion caught the way his eyes grew slightly wider at the sight of Daenerys. The man was not very good at hiding his emotions. He did not even try to hide the way his eyes made a quick sweep over her figure or how his cheeks reddened in the aftermath. Tyrion knew that he was surprised to see Daenerys the way she was now—soft and approachable. She’d let her hair down and freed it of the intricate braids. She wore a long, pale red nightgown but had thrown a black cloak over it out of decency. Still, she lost the stern, queenly look she had during council meetings and Tyrion could tell that this new appearance greatly unsettled Lord Snow. He was shifting on the spot, not knowing where to look, not knowing what to do with his hands and eyes.

“Your Grace,” Jon finally greeted her as he got up.

Daenerys moved her head in acknowledgment. “You can sit,” she told him and Ser Davos. “Nothing formal about this night.”

Daenerys was more subtle. If anything, nobody would be able to tell if she felt something for the King in the North. But Tyrion gradually developed the skill to read her. He saw the way her eyes lingered on Jon for a second too long and how she always clasped her hands together – tightly – when he was around.

They were not big signs like the one Jon Snow gave off—freely staring at her chest when he believed nobody was looking, Tyrion doubted even _he_ knew what he was doing—but they were still signs that could be noticed if one took the time to dig deep enough. Tyrion loved digging.

Missandei and Greyworm joined them soon after and they made a circle around the fire. When Jorah attempted to sit in the middle of Jon and Daenerys, Tyrion made sure he moved in front of him so he could not. Jorah noticed and sent Tyrion a reproachful look before sitting next to Daenerys, instead of being the human barrier between her and the Northerner. Tyrion strategically placed himself across from Jon and Daenerys. After all, his goal for the night was to figure out what was going on between these two and somehow bring it to light and he could only do so by closely inspecting them. He was hoping they’d acknowledge their feelings and act upon them before they spiralled out of control.

Love in a time of war is a terrible thing, Tyrion knew, but they were young, unmarried and the two most powerful people alive. A marriage could help them gain the upper hand in the war against Cersei. But Tyrion was aware that he would have to be smooth. Let them realise it on their own rather than push them into it.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Tyrion began the conversation.

“Warmer than the North for sure,” Davos answered.

Jon and Daenerys were still quiet. He was staring into the fire and she was looking at the sea. _So much for trying to get them to fucking speak._

“Let’s play a game,” Tyrion suggested.

“Game?” Jorah echoed.

Tyrion said, “I know tomorrow’s expedition has chances of turning into a disaster—"

He was immediately cut off by Daenerys. “I thought you wanted us to relax,” she said coldly, “that is not relaxing.”

“All I’m saying,” Tyrion pressed, “is that whatever happens tomorrow…I want us to at the very least remember this night.”

“He isn’t wrong,” Jon said, surprising Tyrion. “About tomorrow…I mean. We’re not certain how it’ll go or if any of us will come out alive.”

“Don’t say that.” Daenerys’ tone dripped ice. Her eyes were sharp on the fire. Tyrion could sense the tension skyrocketing to a climax.

Tyrion looked at Jon and saw the way he clenched his jaw. “I apologise, Your Grace,” he gritted out, “but, aye, tomorrow is dangerous. The Night King is dangerous. Do you wish for me to lie and say that we’ll all be okay when—”

“No,” Tyrion cut them off with a glare, “tonight, we put these things away.”

Greyworm was growing uncomfortable. “What do we do then?”

Tyrion sighed. “We play. There’s this game…I used to play with Jaime when we were young. I believe it is called truth or dare.”

“I don’t think now’s the time to play games,” Jorah said, “Our Queen must be tired. I think we should all rest.”

Daenerys offered him a smile and touched his knee in appreciation. “At least someone here is reasonable,” she spoke, glaring at Tyrion.

Tyrion noted the way Jon’s eyes flew right to where Daenerys touched Jorah and his face darkened. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” he gruffly said.

Tyrion had to hold back a chuckle. Jealousy was a hard thing to tame after all.

Daenerys looked surprised. She crossed her hands together on her lap and nodded. “Very well. You’re our guest so I suppose we should give Tyrion’s game a chance.”

Tyrion grinned. “Great. So how it works is that you get to choose to either answer a question truthfully or do a dare. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

Missandei was the only one who looked happy. Everyone else had confused or irritated looks on their faces.

“How about you start, Ser Jorah?” Tyrion suggested, “Ask me.”

Jorah awkwardly adjusted himself on his seat. “Uh…truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Tyrion said.

“Well, do you think Cersei will be conv—”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to talk about politics, I’d call for a fucking council meeting. Ask fun questions.”

“I don’t know _fun_ questions,” Jorah complained.

“Then maybe don’t play,” Tyrion said, “you can still go to sleep.”

Jorah narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Do you believe Daenerys is a good Queen?”

Tyrion smirked. “Spicy. I like it.”

Daenerys raised her eyebrow at him, waiting.

Tyrion sighed. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in her,” he said, “none of us would. She is kind but fierce, a ruler who will love her people but won’t let injustice pass unnoticed. Sometimes I might not agree about all of her decisions but I respect her opinions and I appreciate that she values mine enough to have named me her Hand.”

The Queen smiled then, a soft curl of her lips and her eyes shone brighter than the stars overhead. It reminded Tyrion how young she was. “Thank you,” Daenerys replied quietly.

Tyrion nodded. “Now it’s my turn. And I choose…Missandei.” The pretty girl’s dark eyes grew in size when Tyrion met her gaze. “Truth or dare?”

Missandei shyly replied, “Dare.”

“ _Ooooh,_ adventurous.” Tyrion wiggled his eyebrows. “That’s what I’m talking about. I dare you to…take a dip in the sea.”

Greyworm was the one to oppose. “That is crazy,” he said.

Daenerys chuckled.

Greyworm looked mortified at his outburst – that too in front of his Queen.

“It’s okay,” Daenerys said, starting to relax and get more into the game, “Missandei is free to see if she wishes to take the challenge, right?”

“She has to,” Tyrion declared, “it’s the rules.”

Missandei’s eyes twinkled in mischief. In a heartbeat, she was up and rushing to the water. Everyone watched in disbelief as her figure slowly disappeared and then she emerged from the ocean. When she returned, she was dripping and shivering – but she had a child’s smile on her face. Tyrion laughed. This was what he wanted.

Greyworm looked furious that his sweet little girlfriend was cold and wet. Tyrion saw the way he inched closer to Missandei on the trunk they shared. She leaned into his side, absorbing his body heat.

“You can choose someone now,” Tyrion told Missandei.

She chuckled and pushed back the hair that was stuck on her face before her eyes found the silver-haired Queen’s. “Your Grace,” she started, happily, “Truth or dare?”

Daenerys took a beat. Jon stole a glance from her before quickly looking away. _Don’t hide it, you’re curious,_ Tyrion thought.

“I guess I’ll take truth,” Daenerys finally responded.

Tyrion clicked his tongue in disappointment, to which Daenerys only rolled her eyes. He had brought wine, too, and while Missandei reflected on what to ask, Tyrion offered everyone a glass. Greyworm refused to drink so the dwarf gulped down his share before grabbing his own.

In front of them, the red, orange and yellow ball of rage roared upward eating its way through the wooden pyramid at its base and aiming for the night sky. Every eye reflected the flickering of the flames. Tyrion enjoyed not just the warmth but the crackling and the unique, woody fragrance of the smoke.

The wine seemed to have loosened Missandei’s tongue. Out of all the questions she could ask, the Queen’s most trusted advisor threw in a bomb: “If it were not for politics and for possible marriage alliances, would you have taken Daario with you?”

Tyrion spat his drink out, coughing loudly. Gods. He thought the game would stretch on with boring, mundane questions and challenges. He was not expecting this turn.

Daenerys gaped at her friend.

Missandei had a sly smile on her face. “Well, we might as well ask the interesting questions,” she said and Tyrion _adored_ the wicked tone. He could hug her at that moment.

Jorah was not amused. Greyworm had a blank face. But Jon. _Oh yes._ Jon looked like he wanted to punch the fire with his bare hands. Displeasure coloured the entirety of his face and the light from the fire danced across features, accentuating his scowl and the hard lines of his clenched jaw. He was not liking where this was going either.

“I—” Daenerys stopped herself and let out a half-hearted, nervous chortle. She took a sip from her wine glass and licked at the stray droplets that fell on the sides of her mouth. She looked properly embarrassed. “Daario was…” She trailed off and Tyrion could see the shadows of uncertainty dance across her face. She didn’t even know how to describe her relationship with the sellsword and quite honestly, neither did he.

“That’s enough,” Jorah Mormont felt the need to interject, “If she does not want to answer, she—”

“I’m thinking. I never said I don’t want to answer,” Daenerys said, tired of Jorah’s dryness. After her stern reply, Jorah shut his mouth—shoulders hunched over in defeat.

She licked her lips thoughtfully. “I think the answer would be…maybe.”

“That is not how this game works,” Tyrion reminded her, taking a large sip. “You don’t get to just say ‘maybe’.”

Daenerys huffed. “No. I would not have,” she rectified.

Next to her, Jon seemed to unwind.

“Why not?” Tyrion pressed.

Daenerys glared at him. “I’ve answered her question. I owe you no explanation.”

Tyrion raised his glass to that. “You’re getting the game.”

Daenerys straightened her back confidently. Violet eyes swept circularly until they settled on Davos. She seemed to hesitate at Jon next to her but they weren’t _there_ yet – it was too soon for her to ask him, Tyrion knew. She wanted to. Again, that could be deducted from her body language. But their argument earlier during the council meeting – his defiance – was still fresh in her mind and there was not enough alcohol in her system for her to play with him right now.

Tyrion would make sure it’d happen eventually.

For now, though, Daenerys eyed Jon’s loyal friend. “Ser Davos, what do you say, truth or dare?”

Davos startled. “I—oh, I don’t mean to play.”

“Please do,” Daenerys insisted, smiling at him, “everyone is.”

Even Jon’s advisor had a weak spot for the Queen’s smile, it seemed, for he let out a low chuckle and nodded. “Alright. I choose truth.”

Daenerys glanced at the fire, and as if it spoke to her and suggested something, a little smirk danced at the corner of her lips. “You’ve known Jon Snow for quite some time, I assume. I wish to ask, is he always this broody?”

Jon’s eyes snapped to hers, taken aback, but Daenerys only smiled mischievously and the King in the North shook his head to himself in amusement.

Tyrion hid his smile behind his golden cup. _Progress, progress._

Davos Seaworth guffawed at the unexpected query. Then he cleared his throat and put on a straight face when he answered, “Always. From the moment I met him this boy was frowning.”

Jon shot Davos an admonitory look, but the corners of his mouth were twitching in laughter. “Oh, please.”

Davos shrugged. “I must tell Her Grace the truth. You always brood, boy.”

For a moment, Daenerys laughed freely and did not bother to immediately cover it up by saying it was a slip and switch back to her queenly façade. Under the moonlight, Daenerys Targaryen looked radiant and happy again, not a ruler – just a woman.

And Jon Snow stared at her like a lovesick fool, as if he’d love to watch the world crumble to pieces to the sound of her laughter.

Tyrion felt a pinch where his heart used to be. He felt that way too, once, a long time ago. But the world was cruel and unforgiving and there was no place for happy things to last. He felt bad for Jon and Daenerys, then. Felt bad for wanting to get them to marry. Because he knew how it would play out. He knew this story would not have a happy ending.

“At least he looks pretty brooding,” Tyrion pointed out once he forced himself to stop being negative, “I told him that once. Didn’t I? That you looked prettier brooding than I did?”

“Aye you did,” Jon replied, finally pulling his eyes away from Daenerys. “I don’t agree.”

“That you’re pretty?” Daenerys wondered, raising a brow. “You’re lying to yourself.”

Missandei giggled.

Daenerys realised her admission and tried to backtrack. “I mean…for a man, he is very comely. I don’t believe no one’s ever told you that.”

The flames were bright enough for Tyrion to notice the way Jon turned red from his neck to his cheeks.

Davos watched the two with a subtle smile. “Alright. Snow, you’re next.”

Jon nodded. “Truth.”

“What did you think of Queen Daenerys when you first saw her?” Davos asked.

Tyrion’s lips quirked at the question. Here he thought he was the only one preoccupied by these two’s relationship but a glance at Davos Seaworth told him enough – he was intrigued too.

Jon’s gloved hands flexed as he processed the question. After a pregnant pause, he told them, “I thought she was unlike any woman I’ve ever met. I saw a fierceness that I saw only in one other woman in my life. My sister. But it wasn’t all…”

“What do you mean?” Tyrion pressed.

Jon looked like he was being tortured to answer. His face was turning darker shades of red as the seconds passed by and his eyes were fleeing everyone’s. He swallowed and said, “Well, she was also very beautiful. I’d heard the rumours of that but I never believed them to be true...they were clearly no exaggerations.”

Next to him, Daenerys was trying her best not to smile. Perhaps she wanted to maintain a stoic appearance now, because they were not alone, but the formality was slipping in small cracks: the way she averted her eyes from his and had tightened her hands together on her lap. She looked nervous, Tyrion remarked, and almost like a young maiden being complimented by a knight she fancied.

“But I was also annoyed that she insisted on me bending the knee,” Jon finished. “I don’t believe it was fair of her. She brushed over most points I made and stubbornly clung to hers.”

Tyrion had to resist the urge to face palm. Everything was going so great and then he _had_ to say that. Gods. The atmosphere turned slightly colder. Daenerys slipped back in her carapace of indifference. Davos and Tyrion exchanged a look. Greyworm and Missandei did the same. And Jorah looked annoyed.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Daenerys commented neutrally.

“And was it fair that you expected her to believe you about some kind of army of the Dead?” Jorah Mormont decided to speak up. “You were— _are_ —a stranger. Why should she believe you?”

Jon sucked in a deep breath. “And why do you feel the need to speak for her every time?” he blurted, “I’m sure her Grace is mature enough to carry a conversation on her own. To defend herself on her own. If she wishes to be Queen, she’ll have to get used to debates. How will she rule if she never listens to anyone whose opinion differs from hers?”

Tyrion almost dropped his glass. That, he was not expecting. Greyworm stood up. “Enough,” he growled, “ _No_ _one_ disrespect the Queen.”

Jon looked mortified. Regret blanched his face but he stood his ground. “I wasn’t meaning to offend her in any way,” he informed them.

Davos sighed. “I think we’re all a bit drunk. Maybe now’s the time to end the night.”

Tyrion was forced to agree. “Ser Davos is right. Maybe we—”

“My lord,” Daenerys addressed Jon Snow, suddenly, unexpectedly. “Meet me in my quarters.”

She stood up after that and did not bother to bid anyone good night. Covered in her black cloak, she walked away without saying another word and absorbed the warmth from the fire with her. Tyrion shook his head in disappointment. They could’ve had the perfect night.

Jon Snow, evidently rattled, got up a moment later. He bowed his head in embarrassment to Jorah Mormont. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you as such,” he said, voice thick with frustration at himself. Jorah only nodded.

Tyrion took Jon apart and told him, “she’s probably a bit angry right now.”

“Aye, I’ve figured,” Jon answered, shutting his eyes to himself. “The fuck’s wrong with me?”

“I’d say just a bit too much honesty. And wine,” Tyrion acknowledged, smiling. “She values your opinion. I hope you know that.”

“I doubt she’s calling me to hear more of my opinions right now,” Jon sullenly told him.

“Go find out then,” Tyrion challenged, “I never took you for a coward.”

Jon stared at the path Daenerys took before letting out a long sigh and finally following the steps himself. Tyrion watched as his form disappeared in the night and hoped that a moment alone would open their eyes. Tyrion prayed they would be courageous enough to ask the right questions and figure out what everyone else already knew.

That they were two fools, falling in love.

***

Daenerys waited for him at her window. It overlooked the sea and from here, she could see the fire Tyrion built. It was getting dimmer, the flames swaying left and right in a way that told her they’d die soon. She couldn’t see if they were still there. She couldn’t see if _he_ was still there. She’d made herself clear, though, and hoped he did not decide to test her more than he already had.

Daenerys took off her black cloak and stood there in her sleeping gown, arms crossed over her chest as she waited for him to come to her. When a knock sounded at her door, her heart jumped over a beat.

 _You’re being foolish,_ she berated herself, _you_ invited _him._

She ran her fingers through her hair subconsciously and then down her dress. As if that’d somehow made her appearance better, she turned around and faced the door, preparing herself for what was to come. “You may enter,” she called out in what she hoped was a proper, formal tone.

Jon pushed her door open and the familiar creaking sound as it opened helped calm her heart. He was just a man. Not a wolf.

But when his dark eyes found hers, her heart began jumping again and her stomach turned into a habitat for venomous snakes. He looked beautiful, with his hair dishevelled from the ocean breeze, his plump lips parted in question, his eyes chasing hers but the moment they found hers, running away.

“I won’t take too much of your time,” she said, “because I know you have a big day tomorrow.”

“It’s still early,” he provided. An invitation.

She clasped her hands together in front of her. “Let’s continue playing,” said Daenerys.

Jon’s eyes shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

She held his stormy gaze. “The truth or dare game. Let’s continue.”

“You—you called me in your chambers to play the game we were already playing?” Jon questioned, shifting on his feet.

She marched closer to him and even if uncertainty clouded his eyes, Jon Snow stood his ground. That was something that intrigued her. Jon was foolishly brave. She could throw him to her dragons and she would not be surprised if he came out a dragonrider.

“I want to play with you alone,” she said, truthful.

Jon’s throat bobbed up and down at her words. “As you wish. Truth or dare, your Grace?”

She smiled. “Truth.”

“Were you offended by what I said?” he asked, not even thinking twice about it. “About…ser Jorah.”

“No. He has been my close friend and advisor for a while. He tries to protect me whenever he gets the chance to. He’s very dear to me, my lord, but you are right to say that he tends to treat me like a child sometimes. Perhaps because he’s known me since I was one,” she explained, “truth or dare?”

Jon watched her attentively. “Truth.”

“Why did you get upset about what Ser Jorah said?” she asked, “He defended me just as Ser Davos would if I – or anyone – talked rudely to you.”

“I do not believe I spoke rudely to you.”

“You called me annoying and stubborn,” she refreshed his memory.

Jon’s face hardened. “I said I was annoyed, not that you were annoying.”

Daenerys was growing impatient. “It’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

As the air grew thick with tension, Daenerys did not back down. “I listened to you. I let you mine the dragonglass. What did you give me in return, my lord?”

“The dragonglass was not useful to you,” he pointed out, “you gave me something that meant nothing to you.”

Gods, this man really knew how to tick every nerve in her being. “But I still gave it to you,” she pressed, “I could have not bothered with your stories and sent you and your men away when you refused to bow.”

“Stories?” he huffed. “They’re not stories.”

She pressed her lips together. “You know what I mean.”

Dark eyes bore into hers. “I am not going to bend the knee.”

Daenerys held his gaze, heart thundering in her chest. Her blood was hot, like she was riding a dragon to battle, and it confused her how he could rile her so. And why it excited her. “You’re insufferable,” she said.

Jon clenched his teeth and stayed quiet.

“You did not answer my question,” she continued, “why did you get so angry about Jorah defending me? Anyone would do the same, Greyworm, Tyrion, Missandei…”

Jon’s hands flexed at his sides. “I do not wish to play any longer.”

She approached him. “Answer me. Ser Jorah is someone very close to my heart and tomorrow, he’ll be with you and your men beyond The Wall and frankly, I wish to know why you seem to dislike him so because I need to be able to trust that no harm—”

“If he is so precious to you then perhaps he should not come,” Jon gritted out, taking a slow and deliberate step towards her.

She blinked, surprised. He let out a harsh breath, as if he was only now realising what he said and just how bitter he sounded. Daenerys observed the shadows on his face and thought of the other times she’d seen him look so glum. Granted, he was never a happy a man to begin with, but on the cliffs when he’d touched Drogon she felt like there was an understanding between them – she felt as if he knew where she was coming from when she talked about how leaders, sometimes, needed to be cruel.

But then Jorah showed up.

Daenerys’ breath hitched in her throat.

Jorah showed up and took her in his arms and Jon watched, a bizarre expression on his face. And when they walked away, he shut her out once more, as if he hadn’t just touched her dragon. And then…during the council meeting, when Jorah proposed he’d go beyond the wall, Jon’s face twisted in a sombre look, gaze lingering on Mormont.

And then Jorah stood up for Daenerys, defended her from what Jon said about her forcing him to bend the knee and not seeing things the way he did and Jon snapped again.

Which led them to here, _again_ he was clearly agitated…about Jorah.

She felt a knot tighten in the pit of her stomach. Her feelings for the northerner were confusing enough – she remembered berating herself for acting like some stupid, foolish girl when he said he’d also go beyond The Wall. She shouldn’t have been so upset and above all, she should not have let it shown. But she felt her mask dropping, felt the way a hand wrapped around her lungs when he spoke the words and how shaky her voice was when she declared that she had not given him permission to leave.

She hated it.

And right now, he wasn’t helping with her conflicts.

Not when his molten eyes refused to leave hers, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, his jaw tense.

If she was befuddled by what she felt for him, then he felt the same way. Oh, he did. And it made everything more complicated.

She should order him out now but the room had grown hot, the sound of their breaths loud and clear. “Truth or dare,” she said, feeling uncharacteristically breathless.

He shook his head. “I’ve made a fool of myself enough,” he replied, an edge to his voice. “Let me leave. Please.” He sounded like he was being tortured – by her.

She took another step and now they were only a foot apart.

He knew there was no way out, not when she was as determined as now. Something flashed in his eyes – dangerous. As if he said to himself: two can play this game. “Dare,” he told her, proving her right. He wished to play too.

She took in a deep breath. _You shouldn’t be doing this._ “I dare you to do something – anything you really want to right now,” she implored. She needed a last confirmation that he felt the same, that she wasn’t making things up.

Jon closed the distance between them without hesitating once. And just when she looked up, thinking he was going to put his mouth on hers, kiss her and tell her all the things her stupid heart longed to hear, Jon only brushed a hand over her hair, tucking a curly lock behind her ear.

Although that meaningless gesture had her heart stuttering, she felt disappointed.

“I always wanted to know what that feels like,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “My hair?”

His eyes fell on her face, roamed around, locked on her lips before flashing back to her own. “Among other things,” he said.

 _Order him out._ She was crazy. He was crazy. “Won’t you ask me?”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” she answered, deciding to make him suffer a bit. Just as he had.

Clearly not the answer he was looking for, Jon nodded thoughtfully. “Why wouldn’t you have given me permission to leave? Isn’t that what you want, for me to bring you a proof that I was not lying?”

“I could make up some…political reason,” she informed him, watching his eyebrow quirk, “but it’d be a lie.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth again and heat bloomed in her belly. He should’ve kissed her. Stupid man. “Well you chose truth. So why lie?” he whispered.

She nodded. “I’m not lying. That’s what I _could_ have done,” she said and then admitted, “but the reason is I was—am—scared you won’t come back to me.”

His lips parted at her admission, his breathing turning shallow and he was so close she could feel the hot puffs on her face.

“Truth or d—”

“Dare,” he cut her off, only a hair’s breadth away from her now.

She could smell him, she could smell the leather he wore and the soap he used and whatever else made his scent so intoxicating to her. Perhaps she was going mad. What was she doing here, in her bedchambers, playing some stupid game with a man who rattled her more than anyone ever did? “I dare you to kiss me already,” she ordered.

He wasted not a second before he did as she asked. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that could only be described as savage. Her words had unleashed the wolf in him and now he was devouring her. Daenerys grabbed at his arms and tried to steady herself but it was to no avail. Her knees weakened and threatened to let her collapse if she didn’t get a hold of herself soon.

But she was too busy melting in his arms, loving the way his calloused hands held her face as if she was his most priced possession. Gods. She was no possession of his. What was wrong with her?

His tongue traced the insides of her mouth in a deep kiss and she mewled in his mouth wantonly. Jon only kissed her with more force, more vigour, angling her face in a way that allowed him to dive deeper, as if he was searching for a treasure that was hidden behind her lips.

He bit on her lower lip and soothed it with his hot tongue and if she wasn’t losing her mind already, she was afraid she absolutely was now.

“Jon,” she moaned when they parted to breathe.

He groaned in response, kissing her again. Quick kisses, nips and licks. She was aching for him, her nipples taut and her clit pulsing. When his mouth dropped to her neck, she threw her head back for him to kiss wherever he wanted, take her however he pleased.

“I hated the way he looked at you.”

She thought she was imagining things in her ecstasy. Realising he truly spoke, Daenerys pulled away from him, eyes questioning. “What?”

His lips were red from her kisses already and she desperately wanted to taste them once more but needed to hear what he was saying. “Jorah,” he said gruffly, “when he first came on Dragonstone…I saw the way he looked at you. And then earlier, defending you like you’re some lady in distress and he a knight in shining armour. I wasn’t even insulting you. He doesn’t need to act so…so possessive of you.”

Daenerys’ lips quirked, her doubts confirmed. “Jealousy,” she mumbled, tracing his hard jaw with her fingertip, “not a trait I suspected I’d see on the King in the North.”

He sighed roughly. “I was taught to never want things for my own,” he told her, his tone serious, “and I could do that all my fucking life. Then I meet you and I’m somehow acting like a damned fool over a man being close to you, as if you were mine to begin with.”

She tried to imagine what being _his_ would mean in a simpler world. She shook the thought away. She learned not to cling onto good things a long time ago. Grabbing his hand, she held his hot gaze as she lifted the shift she wore and brought his palm to her undergarments. Jon drew in a sharp breath as she made him feel the damp fabric between her legs. “This is what you do to me,” she whispered, holding his hand on her centre, “only _you._ ”

Jon kissed her again and started backing her up until her knees bent and she fell on her bed. He came down on her, hovering above her form as he drank from her mouth, tasting her until they were both panting in each other’s mouths. She ran her hands through his hair and at his grunt of approval, she felt herself growing slicker.

“We can’t,” she gasped in his mouth, “this is only going to complicate everything. I can’t have you for one night when tomorrow you—” her voice broke pathetically, “—you could be gone forever.”

“I’m just kissing you,” he swore and dropped his lips to her neck. “You dared me to kiss you. Never said where.” His words ghosted over her skin as he nipped on her shoulder and soothed it with his tongue, daft fingers pulling down her nightgown. “Could be here,” he mumbled, kissing the top of her right breast.

Daenerys was writhing underneath him, her body begging to be touched. Everywhere at once. She lifted herself up so he could work the shift down her body, baring her chest and stomach to him. His eyes ran over her like she was a fine piece of art. Jon kissed her throat, licked the skin under her earlobe and she was going _mad._ “Please,” she heard herself say.

He reduced her to a begging, thrashing mess. And she was unashamed of it.

“Or I could kiss these,” he mumbled, thumbs pressing down on her nipples, eliciting a drawn-out moan from her lips.

When he looked up at her, his eyes were almost completely black with lust. “Should I?” he asked, teasing her, while he toyed with her breasts, swiping his thumbs over them. 

She gawked at him, unnerved by the power he had on her. She found herself nodding, her mind spinning too fast for her to come up with an actual response.

Jon smiled wickedly before his lips enveloped a breast. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying as his teeth bit down on the taut peak, pulling it in his mouth before releasing it. She fisted his hair, making sure his mouth never left her breasts. Jon happily obliged, licking and kissing one nub while he pinched the other and switching. When he was satisfied, her nipples were erect, bruised and wet and her cunt was _throbbing_ for a release.

He dragged his lips sinfully down her stomach, his hands caressing her sides, and she watched as he worked the shift down her feet and tossed it carelessly across the room, along with her underclothes. She was now bare to his eyes and he let his gaze trace every curve and dip of her body, leaning down to take a closer look at her glistening heat.

He was breathing heavily.

Daenerys opened her legs for him and he inhaled deeply. “Gods, I can already smell you,” he muttered, as if that was a curse and a blessing combined. “Is _this_ where you wanted me to kiss you, hm?” He pressed two fingers at her entrance and dragged them down, her wetness sticking to his fingertips.

He brought them to his mouth and licked.

Daenerys whined miserably at the sight, helpless and wanting. “ _Yes_.”

“I want to hear you say it,” he growled.

She glared at him in utter disbelief. She never would’ve guessed the quiet, broody Northern King who stepped in the Throne Room would be making her beg for him. He was a wolf, after all, under all his layers.

“I want your mouth on my cunt, Jon Snow,” she breathed out.

He took his time to taste her down there, too. Her back arched when she first felt his tongue on her slit, leisurely dragging her juices up and down with its hardened tip. He did this for a few moments before finding her clit and puckering his lips over the sensitive nub.

Daenerys clutched at the sheets and bit her bottom lip almost hard enough to taste the metallic sting of blood as he ate her out. He flattened his tongue against her cunt, lapping at her like she was a feast served for a King.

“Oh,” she cried when he pulled at her clit, teasing it with both his lips and teeth. “ _Oh._ Jon, yes, _yes_.”

He groaned in her heat, burying his face in between her thighs, opening his entire mouth over her greedy cunt, his nose bumping on her clit as she rose from her bed, riding his tongue. Her body tensed when she felt her orgasm hit her, the power of it so shattering it had her crying and pulsating around his mouth. Jon licked every drop clean and that alone made her want to come again.

She took a few seconds to come down from the high he and his wicked, pretty mouth induced on her. When the shockwaves subsided, she had the strength to face him again. He looked tired—but pleased. Thoroughly pleased.

She smiled, this feeling bittersweet and new to her. “Truth or dare?”

He raised a brow. “Your Grace, I’m afraid this time I won’t stop myself at just kissing,” he jokingly warned her.

She chuckled.

He also laughed quietly. “Dare,” he said, eyes glinting.

“I dare you,” she whispered, “to come back to me.”

Jon’s face softened. “Daenerys…”

“Please,” she begged for the second time that night, although now it hurt instead of being pleasurable. “You _have_ to promise me.”

Jon told her, “I will come back to you.”

After he left that night, he was still very there. She could feel his mouth on every inch of her flesh and his delicious smell invaded her bedchambers. She didn’t mind, though, and fell asleep with the faint thought of thanking Tyrion for this game.

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a funny idea for like a 500 word drabble but took me like 30 years to write and re-write and here's what it's become. idk what that is. i'm just excited for sunday to come already. hope you enjoyed :)


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